Stagnation
by Reichenbach
Summary: It's time for a long-overdue talk between Ollie and Roy. For Nightwing and the Bat, it's further proof that the more things change...


Disclaimer: I don't own.   
Summery: Its so short, does it need one? Roy and Dick talk.   
Rating: PG-13 for the bad werds.   
Author: me   
  
Stagnation   
**   
  
"I think you're getting worked up about nothing," Dick Grayson said   
coolly as he removed another beer from his refrigerator.   
  
"He doesn't return my calls," Roy said angstfully, taking another   
swig of his own microbrew. It was why he didn't have a problem   
dropping in on his buddy unexpectedly—Dick always bought the   
expensive beer.   
  
"He's kind of busy."   
  
"Busy bonding with his long lost son, taking in some GIRL, who's   
probably going to be Speedy any week now, and screwing Black Canary.   
Have I covered all the reasons why he hasn't called me?"   
  
Dick sighed and sat down. "Well, you got a lot of catch-up to play,   
when people come back from the dead."   
  
"He didn't lose ANY time with Dinah or finding a new side-kick," Roy   
noted.   
  
"Maybe you should go there and talk to him," Dick pointed out, taking   
a draw off his beer.   
  
Roy scowled. "Maybe you should shut up."   
  
"Maybe you should stop being a sissy, and go talk to him."   
  
"Maybe you should REALLY shut up, before I punch your head in."   
  
Dick rolled his eyes. "Firstly, I'd like to see you try. Secondly,   
you're being a sissy about this. You just call him up and say hey,   
Ollie, how're you doing? Or you say hey, just wanted to check and see   
how the living thing was going for you… or… hey, you wanna do   
something this weekend…"   
  
"I ain't calling him," Roy ground out.   
  
"Then stop in and surprise him."   
  
Roy folded his arms over his chest and growled like an angry   
tiger. "You have some kind of fucking bug up your ass, you know that?   
You don't talk to Bruce for four years, and that's just freaking fine   
and dandy, but Ollie's alive again for like two months, and I ain't   
called him and suddenly I'm a shitty sidekick."   
  
"You said it, not me."   
  
"I didn't say—look. I'm not calling him. If he wants to talk to me,   
he's gotta call me."   
  
Dick smacked his forehead. "And he's probably thinking to   
himself: `I'm not calling Roy first, he has to call ME first.' So   
basically neither of you is ever going to talk to the other, and   
you're both going to go around each hates the other, all because   
you're too stupid to pick up the fricking phone."   
  
The red headed Titan nodded with resolve. "That'd be the short of   
it."   
  
* * *   
  
"He's a leach of Nightwing's time, and total distraction," Batman   
explained stonily.   
  
Oliver Queen continued to bench press enough weights to be impressive   
to anyone other than the Bat, not really caring that his workout was   
being invaded. "Then I've taught the boy well."   
  
"HE is distracted. And if Arsenal is distracted, he will be a danger   
to himself, if not his teammates."   
  
"That kid knows how to focus on stuff when he needs to," Ollie shot   
back.   
  
Batman scowled. "That's not the point. Arsenal deserves the benefit   
of a phone call."   
  
"If he wants to talk to me, he'll know where he can find me."   
  
Batman drew his cape tighter around himself, in just the manner that   
irritated Green Arrow so much. "And likely, knowing Arsenal, he is   
saying the same exact thing."   
  
"Your point thus being?"   
  
"Don't be an ass, Queen. Call the kid." That being said, Batman   
vanished.   
  
Oliver pressed a few more repetitions before sitting up. Resting his   
arms on his knees, he chewed on his cheek and sucked in a few deep   
breaths. Slowly, his eyes turned to the table near the door, and   
phone resting on it.   
  
One lip twitched, and he rose, walking towards it. He stopped just   
short of the doorway, contemplating the green molded receiver. The   
thumb of one hand raised to his lips, and he scratched along the edge   
of his goatee and lingered there a moment.   
  
With a sigh, he continued on out the door and to the kitchen. His   
gaze avoided the phone on the wall, and attached themselves to the   
two dirty cookie sheets littering the counter.   
  
"Damned foul mouth kid, never cleans up after herself," he grumbled,   
grabbing both trays and pushing them into the sink. "And Conner   
probably finished `em, like he ain't ever seen cookies before. Ta   
hell with making sure the old man gets some."   
  
Turning the water on, he let it run hot before scrubbing vigorously   
with a plastic scrubber. Rinsing the first quickly, he deposited it   
into the dish rack. With a sigh of frustration, he stared out the   
window in front of him. "I ain't doing it!" he called out   
loudly. "Fricking Dark and Creepy, who went four years without   
calling his kid is telling ME to call Roy. I ain't doing it, you hear   
me? And I know you hear me."   
  
* * *   
  
"So… you aint changed your cell number," Ollie noted.   
  
"Nope. Same number. Better phone."   
  
"The fascist pigs at the phone company--"   
  
"I know, Ollie."   
  
There was a sharp, knife-twisting silence that seemed to go on and   
on, like a bloody, messy homicide.   
  
"So like… it's nice that you're alive and stuff."   
  
"You ain't corrupting your kid, are you?" Oliver said nearly at the   
same time.   
  
"Only against The Man, store-bought chili and the Bat."   
  
"Good."   
  
It turned into a murder-suicide shortly thereafter as the silence   
returned and neither dared to speak.   
  
Roy took in a deep sucking breath. "Anyways…"   
  
"Yeah."   
  
"Glad you're alive."   
  
"Take care of the kid."   
  
"Yeah."   
  
"Yeah."   
  
"Ya."   
  
* * *   
  
The spraying rain collected on Nightwing's hair and ran down his   
mask. In a brief moment of freefall between buildings, he passed the   
back of his gloved hand across his brow, removing the majority of the   
precipitation.   
  
"I can't believe we're having this conversation," the young man   
growled as his line snapped tight and he began swinging through the   
long trench that was Wells Street.   
  
"I was simply…"   
  
"I said I can handle it," Nightwing snapped into his communications   
system. He flew through the cool fall drizzle and landed hard on his   
next building, almost slipping on the wet stone roof.   
  
"All I'm advising--"   
  
"I have it."   
  
"I didn't say you didn't," came Batman's sharp retort in his ear.   
  
Nightwing stood stark still on the roof in protest. He scowled into   
the darkness. "You don't think I can do anything by myself."   
  
"You're… competent."   
  
"Then I think I can do this on my own. White pizza, everything on it.   
No anchovies. GOD. You don't trust me." Nightwing shut off his   
communicator in frustration. Still standing in the misting rain, he   
huffed once, and then went back to his business.   
  
THE END 


End file.
